


Without Style and Grace

by sorteparaplyer



Series: Kinkmeme Fills [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (the incest and underage didn't actually happen), Angst, Begging, Crying, Daddy Kink, Drugs, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Prostitution, Shaming of gender expression, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 15:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorteparaplyer/pseuds/sorteparaplyer
Summary: Klaus did what the client asked for and the asshole refuses to pay. But Klaus needs a hit, he needs his money. He has to get it.





	Without Style and Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for an [umbrellakink](https://umbrellakink.dreamwidth.org/) prompt made [here](https://umbrellakink.dreamwidth.org/284.html?thread=297244#cmt297244), specifically OP's addendum in the comments

Klaus lies on the mattress in his little room, curled into a ball. He reaches up to push the strap of his dress back over his shoulder, as if that will make him feel more covered up. The hem of the dress, meanwhile, is still pushed up to his thighs. He’d pull it back down but he’s not sure he can move that much yet. 

Everything feels sore after the reaming he just got. Even his nerves feel frayed—raw and exposed. It hasn’t happened yet before that a client has recognized him from the Academy. 

Too bad he didn’t just want an autograph.

Klaus tries to tell himself that he’s okay, that some days in the profession are just like this. He’ll bounce back. He always does. A visit to his dealer is all he needs.

He watches the john tug his pants on, zip himself up over that huge cock. In his slightly younger days he’d fancied himself something of a size queen. He had prided himself on his ability to take a cock. If he’d come across this guy back then, he would’ve changed his tune in a hurry.

He’s so sore.

“You really are a mess, kid,” the guy says, now buckling his belt. “Washed up half-assed superhero turned junkie slut.” He chuckles. “Not sure how a person sinks lower than that stupid Umbrella shit but here you are.”

 _It was the abuse_ , Klaus wants to say. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, twisting his lips into a grimace. _I’m not the only one who’s a mess. I’m just the worst one._

“Anyways, I don’t think that was worth the full amount. You told me you could take my dick when we agreed on the price.”

Klaus feels shame kindle in his chest. He _had_ taken it, hadn’t he? Just not without shedding a few tears. And screaming a little.

The man drops bills onto the mattress and Klaus begins to pluck them up, counting _five, ten, twenty, thirty_. “Thirty?” he snarls, pushing himself up. “Thirty fucking bucks? You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

The guy shrugs in a haughty sort of way. “You weren’t any good.”

Klaus scrambles to his feet, ignoring the bloom of pain in his ass. “This is what I charge for a blowie,” he spits, waving the bills at the guy. “On a slow night.” He wants to toss the money right back in the guy’s face, but he doesn’t. Because even if it’s not nearly enough, he needs everything he can get. Instead he gathers himself to his full height, willing himself to stand still on unsteady legs. “I took your elephant cock just like you wanted me to,” he says. “So pay the fuck up, asshole.”

The guy’s eyes narrow. Klaus is suddenly very aware of just how big this guy is, not just downstairs but all over. “Now you’re being a bitch,” the john says. He reaches out and tears a bill out of Klaus’ hand. “So you just made ten bucks less for rudeness.”

Klaus watches the bill disappear into the guy’s pocket, feeling like he just got punched in the gut. His eyes fall to the bills still clutched in his fist. Two fucking fives and a ten. Twenty fucking bucks for taking the biggest cock he’s ever seen in his life. And he’s gonna need so many drugs to block this whole incident from his memory. Or even just to quell the familiar ache creeping into his muscles.

He’s so tired.

“Oh, don’t look like that, sweetheart.” 

“You need to pay me.” He means it as a demand, but it comes out sounding a little hysterical. A little broken.

The fucker actually laughs, which should make Klaus angry but all it does is make him feel small and pitiful and helpless. “You sure are cute for a junkie whore,” he says, smirking, looking almost wistful as he turns to leave. “Well, I’ll see you around, kid.”

“Wait—” Klaus chokes out. 

He turns back to Klaus, still wearing that fucking smirk.

“I’ll-I’ll try again.”

Another bark of laughter. “Really? I don’t think you have it in you.”

“Will you give me the money if we do it again?” There’s something desperate and pathetic in his voice now, and Klaus hates how he sounds. But he also hates the way his body feels when every cell seems to be screaming for a hit, and he’s careening towards that place with every passing second.

“Tell you what, you little crackhead.” He’s grinning now as he steps closer towards Klaus. “I’ll give you a little something I think you’ll like, free of charge, if you beg me for it.”

It’s an easy decision to make. “Show it to me,” Klaus says.

The guy pulls out a little baggie of pills. 

“Please.”

He looks at Klaus as though he’s mulling something over. Then he begins to slip the bag back into his pocket. “You know what, I’d probably enjoy it more myself. But thanks for playing.”

Klaus starts. “No! Please, no,” he whimpers. “Please. I want it. I-I need it. I’ll do anything.”

“Really?” The guy pulls the bag back out, holds it up for Klaus to see. “You’d do anything just for _this_?”

Klaus sinks to his knees, looks up with the most pitiful face he can muster. “Please, please, please...” He reaches out towards the man’s groin. “Anything. I swear. Want me to suck you off? I will!”

The guy pushes Klaus’ hands away and steps back. “Oh, no, you’re gonna have to do better than that.” He circles around Klaus, sinks down in a sprawl onto the mattress. “I have an idea.”

Klaus swallows. Fear begins to sour his stomach. He sits back on his knees, warily turns to face the john. “What is it?” he asks.

“Why don’t you tell me a little story.”

Klaus falters. “W-what?”

“Pretty thing like you, did that man who bought you as a baby ever touch you?”

“What?” Klaus begins to shake his head, his brow knitting in confusion. “N-no.”

“Oh come on, you can tell me. I bet Daddy had his way with you when you were just a teenager, barely any hair on your balls yet. Why don’t you tell me all about that.”

“He-he… touched me,” he ventures.

“Where?”

“Between my legs.” His voice comes out shaky and uncertain, pitched almost like a question. But he sees the interest kindling in the guy’s eyes, the way he’s responding to what Klaus is saying.

“Like this?” The guy leans forward, slides a hand between Klaus’ thighs, up beneath the silky hem of his dress. Klaus nods, wills himself to hold still. The hand doesn’t go any further up though. Instead the guy asks, “how’d it make you feel, sweetheart? When Daddy did that to you?”

“Like a whore. Like a… a plaything.”

The man unbuckles his belt again, takes his zipper down. Klaus eyes him uneasily as he pulls out his cock, but so far he seems satisfied to stroke himself. “Go on, tell me more. Don’t spare any details.”

Klaus’ hands are beginning to tremble. He really doesn’t want to think about Dad doing anything like that to him. But he _really_ needs a hit. “I was a bad boy,” he finds himself saying. “I put my mom’s mascara on, and her eyeliner… I wasn’t supposed to do that, it made me too p-pretty.”

The guy’s cock is hardening and Klaus figures he must be doing something right. “He saw you looking so pretty and just couldn’t resist you, could he?”

“I didn’t want it,” Klaus mewls.

“I’m sure you didn’t, baby. Poor little thing. How’d he do it?”

“He brought me into his office. M-made me look at myself in the mirror.” Klaus feels tears beginning to well in his eyes. That had really happened, he remembers. Reginald had held up some ornate, probably-priceless hand mirror and told him to see how disgusting he looked all painted up like a whore. Told Klaus he should throw him into the street looking like that and see how long it took for someone to force themselves on him. Not that he would ever let Klaus come back, he told him, if he had been defiled in that way. 

The worst part was that Klaus had still liked the way he looked in the mirror, up until black tears began to track down his cheeks.

“Did he bend you over the desk? Or maybe he pulled you into his lap, made you ride his cock while he watched you cry.”

“He laid me on his desk,” Klaus says, feeling sick. “But first he made me stand there while he put away all the things he had out. Not like in movies where they just push everything onto the floor.”

Even in this sick, twisted story Klaus is spinning, he can’t imagine Reginald being so careless with his possessions. Just his children.

The guy considers that with a hand on his cock, squeezes himself as he says, “he made you wait for your punishment, huh?”

Klaus nods. “While he was putting all his stuff away he said he was gonna show me how pretty boys like me deserve to be treated. Show me what happens to such naughty boys.”

“Did you realize he was going to fuck you, sweetheart?”

“No,” Klaus says wetly. “I thought he was going to cane me. He told me to undress. I leaned over and put my hands on the desk.” Klaus winces, remembering the sting of Reginald’s cane, the welts it had left on his bottom while he was made to ruck Allison’s stolen skirts up to his hips. “But he turned me around and picked me up. Put me on the desk on my back.”

“Then what?”

“Then he touched me. Squeezed me. He told me he’d always wanted to do this. Was just waiting for me to be old enough.”

“Ohhh,” the guy moans, twisting his wrist. “Did you fight back?”

“No. I tried so hard to be good.”

A groan. “And then did he fuck you?”

Klaus nods.

“Were you scared? Did it hurt?”

Klaus nods again, suddenly feeling suffocated. Every time he had been ordered into Dad’s office it had hurt. Every time he had been so, so scared. “I pleaded with him to stop.” He’s crying now, and it’s like he’s back in Reginald’s office, being made to submit to his will. “I kept saying ‘please, Daddy, please, you’re hurting me’.”

His chest feels tight and hot as he sobs. He _had_ pleaded, hadn’t he? He’d thought he’d find some shred of mercy within Reginald, some compassion for the child he was. But ‘stop, Daddy, please’ and ‘Daddy, it hurts’ had never dissuaded Reginald. Not even ‘please, Daddy, I’ll be a good boy,’ though Klaus had tried it often enough. It only ever made Reginald hit him harder, for being such a liar.

“Did he come in you?”

Despite everything else, the idea makes Klaus flush red. The guy must see it, because he starts fucking harder into his hand.

“He did, didn’t he?” he says. “I bet he filled you good and made you lay on that desk with your legs spread so he could watch his cum dripping out of you. Were you still crying then? Or did you look how you look now, so horribly ashamed of yourself?”

Klaus doesn’t even know how to answer that. Mercifully, the idea is enough to send the guy over the edge and make him shoot his load. Klaus watches as he ejaculates and goes boneless on the mattress. He draws in a shaky, nervous breath. He’s afraid to ask for the drugs again, and he doesn’t think he has it in him to beg anymore. If the guy doesn’t leave soon, Klaus decides, he’ll have to make a break for it. Settle for what he can score with chump change.

He almost doesn’t see the baggie of pills land on the mattress. Almost. His hand darts out to snatch it up.

Then the guy gets to his feet and starts doing up his pants again. “Glad we decided to go again, kid,” he says smugly. “Your performance was much better that time. Think you even earned a tip.” A ten dollar bill floats down to the mattress, the same one he’d taken from him earlier. Klaus seizes that too, bundles it up with his drugs and other bills. Holds the wad tightly in his hands as if the small amount of cash were a precious bar of gold. 

It’s still way less than what this trick was supposed to earn him, even counting the value of the pills, but at least he doesn’t have to go searching for his hit now. At least he’s got _something_ to show for his efforts tonight. 

“Don’t have much to say, suddenly, huh? That’s okay. I’ll show myself out.”

The guy finally leaves and Klaus opens the baggie with shaking hands. Suddenly all he can think about is how tired he is, how much his body is aching. How his heart is aching too, from the memories he dredged up. A nice high is just what he needs to forget the pain in his body, and his little room with the mattress on the floor, and the mansion with the man who bought him and his siblings. 

He’ll drift off to sleep tonight with barely any memory of the guy with the huge cock. And he’ll wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. Wash, rinse, repeat. Even though the damned thing never seems to come clean.


End file.
